


Bite

by freckledtilikum



Category: Spider-Man (Cartoon 2017), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Horror, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Psychological Horror, Schizophrenia, Wendigo, Wendigo Psychosis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 08:01:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26349763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckledtilikum/pseuds/freckledtilikum
Summary: Norman wasn't as dead as they thought.
Relationships: Harry Osborn & Norman Osborn, Harry Osborn/Peter Parker
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	Bite

**Author's Note:**

> set after the end of season one! & also holding on to Harry's schizophrenia from the comics. Also, have I introduced my Lakota Harry to you? No? Because Harry's biracial, & half Lakota in here. 
> 
> Harry's having a hard time coming to grips with his father's loss.

It always felt as though someone, or something, was watching him. The nagging denial of his father’s death still had not abandoned the young Osborn, even in the weeks that followed Norman’s disappearance. Weeks quickly turned into months, with the crime scene of New York turning much less active. The sweltering summer heat was no good excuse for the abrupt absence of most major villains, especially those that Spider-Man and Hobgoblin often faced off against. So then, what was the excuse for it all? 

His intuition told him that: This was foolish; none of it was related. Perhaps it was time to move on to a new prescription; something stronger… Something to combat the unyielding feeling of eyes on him all the time. It was only ever at night, when the world was at its darkest. 

Osborn Manor was well away from the prying eyes of the city itself, secluded for Norman’s comfort previously. Harry had regretted that isolation when the feeling first hit. Even the maids did little to ease his paranoia. 

And thus, he spent more time in costume as Hobgoblin to ease his aching heart. More time spent with Peter was a remedy in and of itself, especially when his lover seemed to adore his time spent geared up. Why did he have to go and ruin it by mentioning his suspicions about his father? Harry could tell, as soon as the words left his lips, that Peter only humored the idea to spare his feelings. 

Spider-Man went about his business, his responsibility to the everyman of the city, while Hobgoblin carved out his own investigation. Because if anyone was watching him from the shadows, surely it was Norman Osborn. 

He spent weeks upon weeks in pursuit of a whim, chasing what felt like a dream. This was ridiculous, right? Peter never said it aloud, but Harry knew he had worried his boyfriend. And with absolute silence from a ghostly endeavor, Peter wished Harry would give up the chase. It bled into their daily lives, where even just the mention of Norman Osborn on the local news or radio stations (social media was always the worst…) seemed to leave Harry breathless, in a panic. 

Peter remembered one moment so vividly. It had been a lovely evening before then. Harry had nestled close to his lover, an intimacy Peter missed dearly. The television made for background noise and nothing more until Jameson dropped Norman’s name and Harry sat up with a sharp inhale. Peter tried to reign him in, but his lover heard nothing of it. He departed with a terse “I gotta go,” and left no room for another word. He was out the door quickly, gone in an instant. 

The more and more he tried to reach Harry, the more his lover seemed to withdraw into the lie. His own sickness would be the death of him, Peter feared. But what else could he do to help? 

* * *

The night was especially dark. No matter how many city lights shone, scattered about like stars in the sky, nothing seemed to illuminate well enough. 

_ What are you doing, Harry? _

The question haunted him often. Never had he put this much stock into chasing after a creature of his mind’s own creation. Breaks from reality happened less frequently as he grew older, as he stuck to harder drugs that settled his mind. And since Norman’s disappearance, Harry had stopped medicating himself. It was safe to assume this was just another apparition, another whisper in the night, another shadow just out of view like all the rest. 

Peter’s voice broke through his haze with the loud crackling of their commlink. _“Harry!”_ His name came through clearly, but that was just about it. _“Harry, I-”_ Another distortion, breaking up the flow of whatever Spider-Man so desperately wanted to convey. _“--Central Park--”_

“Pete?” 

_ “-’t come-” _

Right. Maybe he shouldn’t use Peter’s actual name over a communication line. “Spider-Man!” But whatever message he was trying to convey cut short with such abruptness that Harry was left unsettled from it all. 

_ Central Park? _

Why did Peter want him there? That was what he said, right? To meet him there, at this hour of the night. Well, Harry had to admit: Pete was a weird one sometimes. “Spider-Man?” He tried to reach out again, only to be met with silence. Well, that was the end of that, wasn’t it? 

Fine. Off to Central Park then. 

* * *

Had everything… always been this white in the park? 

Harry descended on his glider with less grace than usual as a wintry wind destabilized him. Wait, winter? The world around him was blanketed in snow. In the middle of summer! Perhaps the work of a weather altering machine, but then… who had concocted it? Peter didn’t have the time, or- No, Harry was sure of it. Peter never worked something like this up, so it must have been someone else. There was something unnatural, something sinister in the air. 

A cold so unforgiving, Harry thought it might shatter his own reality if he raised his voice.  _ The trees were alive. He saw them moving, ever so subtly, swaying with the wind _ . Freezing chill sunk through his armor without issue, holding him in a snare of arctic temperatures and fear. “Spider-Man?” He called out hesitantly, softly at first, as his mask was peeled away. Just where was he supposed to meet his lover? And why wouldn’t he answer!? 

The cold and anticipation became too much. With a shuddering exhale of steamy breath that dissipated before his very eyes, Harry forced himself to trudge onward and abandoned his glider all together. A shaky hand reached to his hip and found no weapons to spare, aside from the hilt of his fire sword. The heat would do him well, given the circumstances, but that would also give away his position.  _ He can’t alert anyone else to his being here. It was just beyond the trees, staring at him. It was always staring, always waiting. Like the Big Bad Wolf, stalking a little Hobgoblin alone in the woods _ . 

“Harry.”

That sounded too close, too real, as if whispered in his ear. But when Harry turned, he found no one there beside him.  _ All alone again _ . 

His father reminded him of that, more often than not. Those nights in his father’s cold study, under that harsh Osborn gaze, the horrible ramblings never failed to reach into his very heart and soul.  _ I’m the only one standing between you and our enemies. _ Norman Osborn was a man of many enemies, but that only illustrated his insurmountable success. The fear of the  _ Others _ which he instilled outweighed the fear of his father's raised hand. He had a complicated relationship with his father, of fear and longing and love. Harry only wanted acceptance and genuine love from his father, things he could never attain. 

The closest gifted to him were those of manufactured kindness, of disingenuous gestures and constant criticism. If that was all Norman would ever give, then Harry took it, with guilt settled in his stomach and self hatred weighing on his shoulders. 

Fear of the unknown drove him again. Fear of a world that might swallow him up, without Norman Osborn there to protect him. His perceptions of love were so skewered that a genuine attempt from Peter often felt hollow to the young Osborn. He didn’t know how to connect, as if he spent his entire life behind a glass window, staring out at what could have been but never truly reaching it. 

“Pete…?” Harry tried again, his words dripping in apprehension he could no longer mask. “This isn’t funny. Halloween’s a few months away.”  _ Not that anyone could tell with this cold _ . 

Harry felt like a stag stalking through the woods, hoping to find family while avoiding the wolves. But were there actually any wolves around him, or was his head running wild once more? These days, it was impossible to tell the difference.  _ Was that snapping twig real, or did I imagine it? _ The crunching of leaves that followed had to be genuine.

With panic setting in, Harry tried the commlink again. “Peter! Where are you? I can’t find you anywhere. I- I’m really scared. Can you answer me? Please.” 

This time, he was given a reply. The multi-tone call began in a low growl that surrounded him in every direction. It grew louder quickly, into a high pitched, animal-like scream which made Harry throw his hands over his ears to try muffling it out. What a horrid noise. It seemed to drag on for a solid minute before silence took hold again, and Harry found himself dropped to a crouch in the snow. The terrible bugle resounded in the darkness, reverberating off the trees to amplify its haunting cry. And suddenly, Harry was nothing more than a splash of color through the gray and white all around him as he darted from his position. Wildly, he ran with no sense of direction while calling for Peter. 

The trees were growing around him, stretching above him while he scrambled and weaved through thick, black trunks. There were too many of them.  _ Surrounding him, reaching for him _ . “Peter!” Harry called to no avail, panting for breath through the burn of icy air in his throat and lungs. He could taste blood on his tongue, knew he needed to calm himself down lest he run until his lungs burst open. In the panic and the darkness, his violet eyes caught a blinking yellow glow in the distance. 

Light. Light meant people! Peter must be there then. 

It was his best shot. The more he looked around in his terror, the more he realized he was just getting himself lost. With ice biting through his gloves and melting against his body heat, soaking through and chilling him, Harry pushed himself away from the nearest tree trunk and stumbled for the light. “Spider-Man!” In that moment, Norman was nothing more than a bad dream, lost in the heat of the moment. 

A whispering in the back of his mind. 

“I’m comin’-” Harry panted out, reaching for the light. “I’m right here. I’m--” He paused with a newfound clarity and a rustling in the trees. Two overly grown, dead trees stood before him, perfectly parallel to each other. Harry took a step back with a gasp as they moved. No, they were attached to something, crowning the exposed skull of a beast that raised itself from the snow and revealed a long, gaunt, rotting body. It towered over him, its shadow swallowing him with ease. Clawed hands steadied the beast against the surrounding trees, and it took only a moment to size up the Hobgoblin before a devilish grin etched on bone and bore wolfish teeth beneath. 

_ “Oh, Harry.” _ That silky smooth, yet oh so sinister voice that was undeniably Norman Osborn’s vibrated through Harry’s mind like an intrusive thought.  _ “Did you miss me?” _

* * *

The night started off slow for Spider-Man. His patrol had been uneventful thus far, with not even a mugger or a ne’er-do-well in sight. For once, the world yielded him a quiet summer night, and he couldn’t even spend it with Harry. What luck. 

Peter had noticed the decline of his boyfriend’s mental health since Norman’s disappearance. No, even before then. That complete mess of Hobgoblin identity crisis was enough to scare anyone, but then Harry had to lose his father right afterward. Orphaned, then taking on a multi-billion-dollar corporation? Peter worried over him enough without the added strain of super-hero duty. Repeatedly, he assured Harry that he didn’t have to do this. And repeatedly, Harry insisted on following him out. Maybe he was trying to distract himself. That was what Peter wanted to believe, until Harry confessed he thought Norman might still be alive. 

At first, Peter was genuine with his intrigue. Before, they had thought Norman dead, only for him to return as a spider monster. Who was to say there wasn’t some possibility of him returning again? Just-- a little more human this time. Peter  _ wanted _ him to be human this time. But as time went on, and no leads presented themselves? Spider-Man had to focus his efforts on the more immediate problems. 

Oh, how he wished he could help his boyfriend more. Juggling his usual responsibilities and Spider-Man responsibilities left hardly any time for him to help Harry, but Peter still tried and made time to be with his grieving other half. He could tell when Harry stopped taking his medication, but any gentle efforts to encourage him back on were stone-walled. The Heir of Oscorp didn’t want to be coddled. (He even yelled that at Peter, on a certain occasion! Insisting that he was an Osborn, and Osborns were strong). But no matter how bad things were to get, Peter loved Harry through it all. 

He wouldn’t abandon his boyfriend. They had been through too much. 

_ “Pete?”  _ So imagine his confusion, hearing Harry’s voice over the comm without prompting, and sounding so concerned. Peter vaulted himself on the closest and highest rooftop around, perching on the edge before he could reply. 

“Harry? Are you alright?”    


Nothing. 

Something felt different about this though, but Spider-Man couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Trying to push it to the back of his mind at first, he webbed himself off the rooftop and returned to his boring patrol again. 

It was only an hour later, when Harry’s voice crackled over the communication’s line again, much more panicked this time.  _ “Peter! Where are you? I can’t find you anywhere. I- I’m really scared. Can you answer me? Please.” _ He nearly slammed himself into the glass windows of an office building. Scrambling for purchase, and with a pounding heart, Peter finally situated himself well enough to answer back. 

“Harry! What’s happening!?” It sounded serious, with how breathless and panicked his boyfriend was. And again! It was as if Harry couldn’t even hear him!  _ Alright, he wouldn’t waste anymore time _ . When all else failed, he could luckily track Hobgoblin’s location and get to Harry sooner rather than later. 

* * *

Panic left him lightheaded. Harry stumbled back a few steps, his eyes locked on the monster that towered over him. This must be another hallucination. Nightmares like this simply did not exist. His lips trembled as he struggled for words, only to mumble out: “L- Lakȟótiya iyá wóyaglaka he?” His vision blurred around the edges, threatening a blackout he desperately fought against. 

But Norman laughed aloud as his long, lanky body circled and surrounded Harry. The faint smell of rot assaulted the younger Osborn’s nose, but was a mild discomfort in comparison to everything else. “How many times have I told you to stop with that gibberish?” An undeniable sneer punctuated his disdain. His head was so terribly close, Harry could run his fingers over that skull if he could move. “All that effort to learn another language, and you choose that savagery.” He exhaled sharply, hot and rancid breath expelled against Harry’s smaller form. “Such wasted potential. Aren’t you tired of it all?” 

Being called a failure was nothing new. From the lips of Norman Osborn? Harry knew nothing but an unkind word and lack of praise. Should his father spare even an ounce of what Harry coveted dearly, it was often coupled with ill intent. “You’re alive…” It was the only breathless response the Hobgoblin could muster. 

A snort disapproval. 

Norman withdrew with serpentine grace and stood to his full height. Every step he took made the ground tremble and quake, displaced the surrounding snow. A long, whip-like tail made entirely of bone curled around Harry for a moment before unwinding as well. Norman’s back was turned to his son again, while Harry could only watch in terror and confusion. “I’ve been busy, Harry. This city won’t clean itself up.” His glowing yellow eyes stared fixated on a clawed hand as he flexed his fingers, then dropped it to his side again. “I’ve taken over. Block by block, piece by piece. Anyone who rebelled didn’t last too long.” Well… that explained the sudden disappearance of most major crimes. What were petty thieves to do against such a horrible beast? 

“Spider-Man’s next.” Norman spoke with conviction and turned his gaze to the open sky above. The night was filled with so many stars, the moon as bright as the glowing eyes of the monster. “The men I’ve taken under my charge? Pathetic, mindless. And yet, somehow… They are more eager to do what you struggled with for so long.” There it was. The piercing glare of Norman Osborn fell on him for the millionth time in Harry’s life, so familiar and painful as ever. “And you? I know what to do with you.” 

When his body turned, Harry moved with it. Step for step, he matched Norman’s careful pace. The beast inched closer, while Hobgoblin moved away until his back hit the thick trunk of a tree and he found himself cornered again. “One bite,” the beast breathed out. “And then I can bring you to heel.” 

* * *

With all the determination that a hero should have, Peter traveled through the city in urgency. He was much further from Harry than he cared to be, and could only move so quickly. Dread gripped him terribly. What horrible fate had befallen his lover? He couldn’t lose Harry, he just couldn’t. His lover deserved a chance at a better life, even if the world seemed determined to deny him that. 

Finally! The park was in view. Spider-Man launched himself off the side of a building and landed heavily beside Harry’s abandoned glider.  _ Oh no, please no _ . “Harry!” His voice echoed in the woods as he charged in. Red and blue stood out among the snow-- “Snow!?” Peter didn’t have time to stop and investigate. Something evil was happening here, and he had to save Harry. 

“Harry, answer me!” The trees had never been so thick before. This was completely unnatural! 

Webbing from tree to tree, he was not slowed down by snow at his ankles. This also yielded a better view as he launched himself into the air, able to search quicker. Wait, were those giant antlers? And a small splash of color against the icy world around them. 

The world was in a rush, but moving entirely too slow at the same time. What only lasted a few seconds felt like an eternity, but Peter finally descended on the spot. A gruesome sight was before him, with this terrible beast hunched over Harry, who sat against the trunk of a tree with blood staining the snow around him. 

And there- a gruesome bite in his side. 

“Harry--!”


End file.
